Fly By
by BeverlyAnna
Summary: When Lily hasn't left her room in days, James finds his way up to the girls' dormitory to make sure everything's okay.


I can't say for sure how long I've been reclined on my bed staring at the ceiling. Despite the urging from my roommates Marlene and Sylvia to get up and move, I haven't left the dorm all weekend. I've got a hoard of sweets my mum sent under my bed, and professors have given me enough homework that I could stay here forever and never be done. In fact, I have no intention of moving until a harsh knocking on my door interrupts the sulking I've been doing.

I plan to ignore whomever it is, figuring they'll come back when one of my roommates is actually around. I keep to myself for a solid five minutes before the knocking has become so sharp and loud that I can't block it out any longer. I roll out of bed and prepare to angrily tell my visitor to go away. But then…

When I open the door, there's no one there. I poke my head out into the hall, look quickly around, and then seeing no one I retreat back into my room and slam the door. How dare someone interrupt my brooding, and — the knocking starts again.

I grab my wand off my desk and proceed towards the door once more. This time when I open it, I'm sporting a grimace and an acidic tone. I take a step into the narrow hallway and then announce, "Whoever's out here better have a bloody good reason for —"

"_Relax_, Evans." A voice cuts me off. Only it's not just any voice — it's _his _voice.

"James," I whine, "if I wanted to talk to you, I would have answered one of the dozen owls you sent to me. Please, let me alone."

"Can't do it," the empty hallway replies. "It's been days since anyone has seen you, and your roommates are starting to get concerned. I know _I'm _concerned. There must be something you want to get off your chest."

I cross my arms, pouting angrily as I stare into the abyss that somewhere contains James Potter. I start thinking up a list of things I can tell him to get him off my case, when suddenly my mouth speaks of its own accord. "James, how did you get up here?"

"The invisibility cloak is really a magnificent —"

"It's not magnificent enough to trick the stairs. What did you _do_, James?" I swipe at the air and attempt to grab the cloak, hoping to expose whatever magic he might've had to perform on himself to get up here. Unfortunately, the cloak gently caresses my fingers, but it's too fluid for me to get a hold of. James eludes me.

When he speaks, I can practically hear the smirk in his voice. "Oi, Evans, don't you think you should invite me into the room before you try to undress me?"

"James," I say harshly, "I'm not —"

"In the mood," he fills in. "Yeah. When are you ever?"

I lift my arm, preparing to throw a jinx his way. Nothing major, just a little something to show him that I mean business; I'm truly not messing around.

"No need for magic," he intervenes, apparently reading my body language. "Please, Lily, just invite me in so we can have a chat. No malicious intent, just a couple of mates decoding why you're so messed up."

"I am _not _messed up," I complain, turning on my heel and tromping into my room. I leave the door open behind me, and James recognizes that that's as close as I'm going to come to inviting him in.

A moment later, I am once again sprawled on my bed, amidst piles of parchment, crumpled up papers, text books, and sweets wrappers.

"Wow, Evans," James's disembodied voice comments, "you've really tidied up the place. Truly it's —"

"If I could see you I would hex you into next week."

"Ah, but my invisibility is part of my charm."

"Charm," I scoff. "I believe you got a T on your last Charms exam, so maybe that's not an area you should be boasting about." I sit myself against the wall so that I can see the entirety of my room, and then I continue on my tirade, "And would you please take off that stupid cloak? I feel like a nutter, talking to myself like this."

James sighs, contemplates the situation for a moment, and then asks, "You aren't going to write me up for this, are you?"

"If I were going to," I snap, "don't you think I'd already have done?" While I'm speaking, I magick the door to bang shut, not wanting anyone to hear this mess.

The room is quiet for a long moment; the only sound is the reverberation of the freshly slammed door. I revel in the silence, closing my eyes and taking a steadying breath. When I open them again, James is in front of me.

My first surprise comes from the fact that he still looks like himself — messy black hair, rounded spectacles, nicely sculpted body, and well fitted shirt. It takes a moment for me to process what exactly is wrong with the picture.

And when I do… Well, when I do I lose it in a fit of laughter. "A _broomstick_, Potter?" I eventually choke out. "Merlin, you're a genius. A bloody simplistic genius. I can't tell you how many transfiguration spells I've seen gone wrong, and all it takes from you is a bloody _broom_."

"It has its troubles," James admits, dismounting from the broom and then tousling his already messy hair. "The stairs still transform into the slide, y'know? That's why the cloak helps. No one can see me, so they assume old Gryffindor tower is malfunctioning."

"You're unbelievable," I say as I shake my head back and forth. I think there's too much admiration in my words for them to sound truly exasperated.

"As are you," he says, inviting himself over to my bed. He knocks a pile of Potions notes off my bed and coolly takes a seat, as though he's been here a million times. "I've never once heard of a person being able to lock themselves away for two straight days."

"You've done it," I quip without thinking.

James raises an eyebrow at me. I fail to meet his brown eyes with my green ones, and instead stare at the floor as my cheeks heat up. He allows an awkward silence to fill the room before saying, "As flattered as I am by the fact that you notice my whereabouts, I never hole myself up in my room. I have other places to hide away, sure, but nowhere as boring as a dorm."

"Well," I snap, "this dorm is the only luxury I've got. And I — I've needed a break from people, okay?"

"But you let me in," James observes. "So you've at least suspended your break. Talk to me Lily. Tell me what's wrong."

"Why does something have to be wrong?"

"Because I _know _you, Lily. You're good at overreacting, but even this is a lot for you."

I chew at my lip, still unable to look at him. Finally I admit, "It's silly. It's nothing like what we went through last year." Last year: the reason James and I had become so close. His mum was sick; my dad was. We spent the entirety of our summer holidays trapped together in St. Mungo's before his mum died, and then, not a week later, my dad had followed. You get to know people in an incredible, raw way when they're grieving, and because of that James and I had a newfound friendship. Close, and rather inexplicable to our friends at Hogwarts. Neither of us talked about home much.

I guess I was lost in thought, because eventually James nudged me with his foot. "Hey," he says, bringing me back to real life, "I'm glad it's nothing like last year." His voice is gruff, and he clears his throat before continuing. "I still think you need to tell me what's going on, though."

Instead of answering him verbally, I turn away from him and lift up my pillow. I pull out a worn envelope, and from inside of that I take out an invitation. That's what I hand to James.

_You Are Cordially Invited_

_to the Wedding of:_

_Pentunia Claire Evans_

_and_

_Vernon Michael Dursley_

There are a myriad of details scattered on the inside, and James studies the whole invite before looking back to me. "This is why you haven't shown your face in days?" he inquires. "Look, Lily, I know that you don't like the guy, but you said yourself that you knew this was coming. I —"

"James," I cut him off quietly, "I've asked you to understand a lot of things over the last year, but my relationship with Petunia hasn't really been one of them. I'm not upset because she's getting married. It's that she…" I shake my head back and forth, unable to find the words. I pull another piece of paper out of the envelope and pass it over to James.

This one is a sheet of paper from the memo pad that we keep next to the telephone in the kitchen at home. The note written on it is rushed, but I'd still recognize Petunia's handwriting anywhere.

_Lily,_

_ I'm inviting you to my wedding knowing that you'll probably want to come. That's fine. I can deal with having you there. You should know that I will not permit there to be any of your people in attendance._

_Best,_

_Petunia_

James stares at the paper for a moment, as though he can't quite process what he's read. Finally, he looks over to me. This time, I don't break eye contact. "I'm sorry, Lils," is all he is able to say at first.

Sorry? He's sorry? I almost laugh. "I just can't believe her. She can _deal with having me there_. Wow. What a generous soul." I stand up from the bed and begin to pace, unable to contain my annoyance. "It's not like we used to spend hours planning our weddings together as children. It's not like she's my only sister. I can't believe she had the gall to —"

"She just doesn't understand you, Lily," he cuts me off. "She doesn't understand any of this, and it scares her."

"It scares her so much that it gives her the right to be a total arse?" I demand. My hands are shaking and there are tears prickling at the back of my eyes, but I will not give Petunia the satisfaction of crying.

"Hey," James says, standing up and striding over to me, "you know that's not what I meant. I don't want to make excuses for her."

"Good."

He grabs both of my hands in his. "This is what has had you trapped in here for days?"

I nod at him solemnly. "I'm a mess, James. I've written her six dozen letters, but none of them convey the proper sentiment."

"The proper sentiment?"

"Congratulations," I explain, "mixed with a healthy dosage of fuck you."

James has the decency to withhold his laugh, as I'm in the middle of a rant.

"Not only," I continue, "can I not come up with a proper reply, I can't stop thinking…" I pull my hands from his, taking a step back and looking him in the eyes. "She says that there won't be any of my people there. And, you know, I suppose she's right. The only people there that I'll really know are my mum and my aunts. But that's not what she means. She means there won't be anyone with magic, and, Merlin, it kills me. Tuney won't let me blend in with the muggles, and with the war going on here I'm nothing more than a mudblood. I don't have a place, James."

"Yes," he says firmly, "you do." He walks to me again and reclaims my hands. "You belong in the wizarding world, Lily Evans. I'm sorry that you picked such a bloody awful time to show up here, but this is it. And you belong at your sister's wedding. And —hey! I don't suppose your sister would take too kindly to a wedding crasher?"

"A wedding crasher?" I repeat back dumbly. My head is swimming.

James shrugs. "I could keep you company, and you could show me off a bit. I'm sure your mum would love to see me, and I know you and I would both like to see the look on Petunia's face if the horrible boy you met at the wizard hospital showed up at her wedding. It's a win-win, eh?"

There's a glint in his eye that makes me see that he is completely serious. He truly believes this will be a perfect plan of action. And, well, won't it? Sticking it to Petunia by bringing one of _my_ people? It would be awfully rewarding to see her face.

I'm in the middle of thinking all of this over when James stoops down and presses a quick kiss against my lips. It's so fast that I almost miss it. The warmth of James's lips. The way they're a little bit chapped from playing Quidditch in the wind. The way they taste like Honeyduke's finest chocolate. I almost miss it. Almost. In fact, I'm not quite sure it really happened until I see the smirk that James is wearing. "Write your sister back and meet me downstairs for dinner, yeah?" he says.

By the time his name manages to bubble to my lips, he's shaking his head at me. His signature smirk widens, and then he disappears under the shimmer of the cloak. It's as though he was never here at all. "I mean it, Evans," he says firmly, "meet me downstairs in the next half an hour or you're going stag to the wedding." He lets out a gentle snort, though I've no idea what's funny, and then I can hear the rush of the wind as he takes off on his broomstick once more.


End file.
